


Training

by tanigaki



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: M/M, Sparring, local idiots continue to not admit their feelings, well until chapter 2 i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-12 22:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanigaki/pseuds/tanigaki
Summary: Berkut seems to be good at everything, so who could blame Fernand for being so enamoured?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this might be a lil ooc but this is still a rarepair so i can do whatever i want

Fernand could feel the sweat soaking through his shirt as he sidestepped to avoid another swing. He had been honoured that Berkut had asked to spar with him but this was insane; Berkut seemed to be highly trained in both swords and lances and was proving himself to be incredibly quick on his feet. Fernand knew that he wasn't a bad fighter himself--he  _ had _ been second in command of the Deliverance for a reason, after all--but he was severely out of practice. Berkut had been stressed lately and refused to participate in battles, opting instead to take out his emotions through training. He kept Fernand by his side at all times these days, but usually opted to train on his own. 

Today, though, he had offered Fernand the chance to be his sparring partner; an offer Fernand wouldn't miss out on for the world. And now here he was, sweating and panting as though he'd been running for his life. Berkut seemed unfazed, if not somewhat amused. Fernand had seen his grace and power in battle before and now understood how his lord’s opponents must feel. It didn't help that he was out of his element: Berkut had insisted they spar with rapiers. 

_ A fitting choice for nobles _ , thought Fernand. Unfortunately, he hadn't used a rapier since the days of his youth. He scrambled to remember the lessons he'd been forced to attend as Berkut lunged forward, nearly grazing his shoulder. Fernand stepped aside and attempted to swing down against his master’s back, but was met only by air. He whipped his head to follow where Berkut had gone and felt a tug on his cheek. Berkut wasn't too close, but he was near enough to get a clean slice through Fernand's cheek. It stung, but it wasn't enough to phase him. He didn't even bother to wipe away the blood as he quickly stepped back, putting more distance between him and Berkut. Fernand broadened his stance slightly and watched the prince's careful movements, only to be realize that something had changed. For the first time in weeks, Berkut was  _ smiling.  _ He was actually enjoying himself now and Fernand felt reinvigorated; it was time to strike back. 

He lunged towards Berkut, keeping on his toes in order to speed up his footwork. Berkut parried his sword, stepping forward to the point where their guards clanked against each other. Metal ground against metal as they both refused to back away. Then Fernand made a grave mistake: he locked eyes with Berkut. The prince was smiling as if this were his first fight, his eyes showing nothing but confidence and pure enjoyment. Fernand’s heart caught in his chest and he hesitated for just a second, giving Berkut the opportunity to force him back. Berkut quickly raised his blade to attack again. Fernand swung his rapier up in attempt to block the attack but was struck down by Berkut’s strong slice. His heels slid against the stone floor and he fell backwards, landing hard on his back and knocking the wind out of him. In his daze he tried to rise but found himself trapped between the floor and the tip of Berkut’s rapier. He was still grinning, the sense of victory clear on his face. 

“Now Fernand, I don't believe a proper knight should allow himself to be defeated so easily.” 

Fernand held back a scoff. It had been a good fight, but he knew very well that Berkut had not won without having to actually give it his all. 

“The task is not so simple in the face of such overwhelming force, milord.” He continued, unable to hold his tongue: “I believe you fight much better when you're enjoying yourself.” 

Surprisingly, Berkut didn't scold him. In fact, he sheathed his rapier and  _ laughed _ . Fernand's eyes went wide in shock; Berkut was being genuine, his laugh not even slightly condescending. 

“Ah… that's why I like you, Fernand.” Berkut offered his hand, helping his charge up only to the point where he was kneeling; a hand left upon his shoulder to keep him at that height. Then he spoke again, his voice lower. 

“You’re so eager to please and yet you stand your ground nonetheless. You're an open book and you have confidence in your own actions. I admire that.” Fernand flushed, embarrassed by how easily Berkut saw through him. He responded, choosing his words carefully. 

“My honesty is simply an effect of your presence, milord. You demand the truth, I simply offer it.” Berkut removed his hand from Fernand's shoulder. 

“Could you offer me something else, Fernand?” He asked. Fernand's mouth went dry. 

“Anything you desire, milord.” He managed to respond. Berkut raised his chin, looking down upon his charge, and offered his pale hand before him. 

“A token; both of your gratitude and for a fight well-fought.” 

Fernand moved slowly, careful to understand the prince's words properly. He took Berkut's hand, bringing it close enough to press his soft lips against the prince's knuckles. He looked up to assure that his actions were correct and then froze. Berkut looked strangely soft, almost affectionate. His eyes were focused on Fernand alone but his gaze was unreadable. It was like nothing Fernand had ever seen before. He felt unable to move and his grip subconsciously tightened on his prince’s cold hand. 

“M-Milord…” he managed to choke out. “Is something amiss?” 

Berkut blinked, then responded: “Your honesty, Fernand. Hold it close and answer me: did you enjoy this fight?”

It was a simple question but it felt loaded with possible consequences. Fernand took a deep breath before answering. 

“Yes, milord. You’ve shown me that there is still much for me to learn.” 

Berkut seemed to ponder his answer briefly before kneeling down to match Fernand’s position. He took the hand that was not being held by Fernand and brought it up to the blonde’s cheek, pressing his thumb to wipe away the blood from his earlier cut. Fernand flinched slightly, both at the sting of the cut and the unexpected close contact. This felt awfully uncharacteristic; it was almost as if Berkut felt guilty for cutting his cheek. Nevertheless, Fernand watched in awe as Berkut’s expression seemed to soften even further, his eyebrows now slightly furrowed but his lips parted. He had to remind himself to keep breathing. 

“I take that your answer means that you would continue to spar with me if I were to ask?” Berkut’s voice was nearly a whisper now. 

Before he could stop himself, Fernand said: “Lord Berkut, I would do anything as long as you were the one to ask it of me.” He bit his tongue, cursing the openness that the prince had previously praised. But Berkut didn't respond. A redness had appeared on his cheeks and Fernand could tell that it wasn't from the fight. Berkut seemed closer now; Fernand could almost feel his breath. Perhaps it was wishful thinking or a misstep in perception due to his own feelings but Fernand could have sworn that Berkut was going to kiss him. And he would absolutely allow it. 

Fernand watched with wide eyes as the usually confident prince appeared to be strained, his breath uneven and his hand slightly shaking against Fernand’s cheek. He couldn't seem to catch Berkut’s eyes; he could feel the prince's gaze burning into his lips. They were both leaning closer to each other, the distance between them inching smaller with each passing second. Then right as Fernand’s eyes fluttered closed, he heard Berkut’s breath catch in his throat. He opened his eyes, only to find the prince starting to back away. Berkut pulled his hand away from Fernand's face as though he’d been shocked. He stood quickly, pulling his other hand from Fernand’s grip and turning his face away from his charge. 

_ Did I do something to offend him? _ thought Fernand. 

“Lord Berkut… I-”

“You fought well today, Fernand.” Berkut interrupted him. His voice shook ever so slightly, Fernand noted with surprise. Then Berkut seemed as though he were going to turn and say something else, but he simply blurted out: “I am… needed elsewhere.” Then he briskly left the room, leaving his charge in a state of shock and confusion. Fernand sat back on his knees and tried to regulate his breathing. He put a hand to his mouth--the same one that had been holding his master’s hand moments earlier--and tried to calm his racing heartbeat. Surely Berkut had felt the same? There was no way that he'd imagined the prince’s careful touch and shaky breath. 

“Oh, gods,” he gasped, realizing just how  _ close _ he’d been to Berkut. 

And Berkut had almost  _ kissed him.  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks @ those who asked for more of this, i love these two

Fernand couldn’t sleep. The events from the previous day left him tossing and turning, the scene replaying in his head over and over again like a play. The place where Berkut’s hand had cupped his cheek felt like it was burning; Fernand hadn’t been touched so intimately in years. The cut hadn’t even been that deep, yet he almost wished that it would leave a scar. To be marked by his lord would be an honour. He quickly was lost to his daydreams and then, before he knew it, it was morning. He groaned and tossed an arm over his eyes. Berkut would know that something was bothering him if he was late to their daily war meeting. The thought struck him as odd; he hadn’t truly realized how well he and Berkut had gotten to know each other. 

_ Perhaps there are more things that I have yet to realize _ , he thought, pulling on his pressed clothes before leaving the room. 

He took his place at Berkut’s side, as usual, and listened to the daily report. Rigel was not faring well, and Fernand could tell that the burden weighed heavy upon the young prince. He tried not to glance at Berkut’s hands, tightening against his thighs in anger and, if Fernand were to be honest, a bit of helplessness as well. He wished there was some way to comfort Berkut, but all the possibilities that came to mind felt too intimate and too concerned for his position. So he kept his eye on him, walking slightly closer than usual as they left the meeting. Berkut didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, he didn’t say a word. Their usually comfortable silence felt stifling today, and Fernand recalled Berkut’s words from yesterday, praising him for his honesty and openness. So he waited until they had turned into an empty hallway before he took a leap of faith. 

“Lord Berkut, if you don’t mind me asking… What exactly happened yesterday?” He kept his tone as even as possible, trying to seem more curious than desperate for answers. Berkut froze for a second, then continued walking, his pace slightly uneven. 

“I… do not know what you’re referring to.” He responded. Maybe Fernand was imagining things, but the prince’s voice sounded strained. Fernand sighed as he realized that this wasn’t going to work. He bit the inside of his cheek, continuing to walk alongside Berkut as he tried to think of alternate methods of obtaining answers. Then they passed by the training hall and he got an idea. 

“Milord, would you like to spar again?” Berkut actually stopped this time and considered his words. He was hesitant, that much was clear. Fernand assumed he was worried about having an accidental repeat of yesterday’s sparring session but the prince was in dire need of venting his emotions.

“Very well,” he responded, leading the way into the training hall. He seemed to have already forgotten the previous tension as he asked: “Would you prefer lances this round, Fernand? Or would you like to try your hand with a rapier once more?” 

“Ah, I believe I ought to attempt to cover up my previous embarrassment, milord.” He pulled a rapier from the wall, checking its weight and turning to face Berkut. 

“That is, unless you think you may lose?”

Berkut turned away as he laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed his own rapier. 

“I have a feeling that you will regret those words.”

They took their positions across from each other, readying their stances. Fernand, eager to prove his worth, decided to act first. He kept his footwork simple, opting to lunge toward Berkut in attempt to close some of the distance between them rather than get in a proper attack. Berkut stood his ground, keeping his blade high to act as a guard. Then he swiftly closed the gap between them, aiming for Fernand’s shoulder. Fernand managed to parry the blow, knocking the prince’s sword aside but taking a few steps backwards. 

_ Strange,  _ he thought.  _ He isn’t attacking like yesterday... he seems to be spending more time thinking about his next move? _

Fernand went for another attack, keeping his rapier at an angle in attempt to hit Berkut’s side. He watched carefully, and noticed that Berkut nearly reacted too late; he brought his blade up just in time, metal clanking against metal in a way that reverberated against Fernand’s hand. His theory appeared to be correct. Berkut seemed less confident than usual, and it was starting to show on his face as well. With his brows furrowed and his teeth tightly gritted, he looked as though he was nearly in pain. Fernand felt a dull ache in his heart at the sight but took advantage nevertheless. He leapt forward, sidestepping quickly to attack Berkut either at his side or his back depending on the prince’s reaction. But this proved to be a severe miscalculation: the second he was nearly behind Berkut, the prince swung his rapier instinctively in his direction. Fernand was caught off-guard, giving Berkut enough time to turn and face him. Their blades met again as Berkut slashed at him repeatedly, this time with much more force behind his attacks. Each swing forced Fernand backwards a step or two further. He struggled to keep up, barely managing to parry or defend against each blow before Berkut stepped forward with a lunge, using his proximity to twist Fernand’s sword against his own and wrench it from his grasp. It clattered to the floor unceremoniously, leaving Fernand with no defense against the blade that now threatened his throat. He took a step backwards to try and distance himself from Berkut but found himself plastered to the wall with no escape. Berkut was close, too close, holding his rapier horizontally against Fernand’s neck. He felt a bead of sweat on his brow as he searched Berkut’s expression for an indicator as to what he should do. The blonde was breathing hard, his chest heaving from a mixture of exertion and anxiety. Surely Berkut wasn’t angry enough to actually attack him? 

Then something strange happened. 

Berkut dropped his sword, letting it fall to the floor beside him. Fernand hardly had the time to register the harsh metallic crash before he felt Berkut’s mouth meet his own. Berkut kissed him, and was  _ still kissing him _ . He felt his cheeks start to burn as he realized what was happening. The shock wore off right as Berkut started to pull away and without thinking, Fernand chased his lips, leaning forward to catch him in another kiss. Berkut was stiff, as though he hadn't expected Fernand to reciprocate, but warmed up quickly, melding his lips against Fernand’s. Berkut raised a shaky hand to cup his cheek, just as he had done the day before. 

Fernand wanted so desperately to continue but he needed answers first. He managed to pull away from Berkut, a soft whine escaping the prince's lips as they parted. He rested his forehead against Berkut's before speaking softly. 

“I think… I deserve an explanation at this point, milord.” Berkut let out a defeated sigh, a puff of air brushing against Fernand's face. 

Fernand waited for a beat, but after not hearing a word from Berkut he looked up, and tried to catch his gaze. Berkut quickly grabbed the back of his head and pressed their foreheads closer together, stopping Fernand from viewing him properly.

“Do not...” he said suddenly, “Don't look at me.”

Something about his voice sounded raw and vulnerable, leaving Fernand somewhat confused about the situation. 

“Berkut…” He hesitated, not entirely sure if the prince wanted to open up, but continued on anyways. “Listen to me, I know that something has been bothering you, but I'm here. If there’s anything you want to say, I will listen with all my heart. If not, I shall respect your decision.”

He carefully raised his hands to Berkut’s face, the tips of his fingers brushing his hair as he caressed his pale cheeks. Berkut drew in a sharp breath, but Fernand couldn't see his expression. They held each other there in near-silence, their breathing echoing in the room.

“Fernand, please,” Berkut's voice cracked. “Just kiss me again.”

Fernand gratefully complied, his hands moving to the back of Berkut’s neck as he pressed their lips together once more. He felt a low groan rumble in the back of Berkut's throat and the prince moved closer, pressing their chests together and keeping Fernand firmly pinned to the wall. It was like something had finally snapped inside of Berkut; affection and need and  _ want  _ poured out of every inch of his body, flooding Fernand’s senses with every touch of his fingers and every press of his lips. Fernand felt a tongue prod at his lips and responded with an open-mouthed kiss, tasting the inside of Berkut's mouth as the other man’s tongue ran across his teeth. Though neither would likely admit it, they were both fairly inexperienced. The kiss was messy and unrefined, teeth clacking every so often and hands quickly shuffling to feel as much skin as possible. Fernand felt Berkut’s cold hands slip under the back of his shirt, if only simply seeking to feel skin against skin. 

There was a feeling behind Berkut's actions, however, and Fernand could sense it. A hesitance mixed with a need for acceptance and admiration; brewing dangerously ever so close to the surface. Berkut was needy and touch-starved, yet he couldn't admit that he was even capable of having feelings for anyone else. Fernand knew the prince well enough to understand these feelings, and couldn't help but bend to his desires. He really couldn't deny Berkut anything, especially when it was something that he desired himself as well. He quelled his thoughts and pulled away from the prince’s mouth, hoping that the words he was about to choose would be the correct ones. 

“Berkut…I-ah!” His voiced jumped as Berkut moved to press his lips to Fernand's neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses just above his collar. Fernand’s mind was swimming from the affection but he wouldn't let it deter him. 

“If you would, please…” Fernand spoke again, trying his way to keep his voice even, “Allow me to remain by your side for as long as I may live.”

He felt Berkut suddenly still against him, most certainly processing the weight and sincerity of Fernand’s confession. Then Berkut buried his face into the crook of Fernand's neck and collarbone, his arms tightening around his charge’s back. 

“Damn you, Fernand…” He said, muffled against the fabric of Fernand’s shirt. “You always know exactly what I wish to hear.” Fernand felt a blush spread across his cheeks and he wrapped his arms around Berkut, holding him close and carding his fingers through the prince’s soft hair. After a moment he felt Berkut sigh against his neck and pull away enough to look him in the eyes. Berkut’s eyes were tinged pink, as though he'd been crying. Fernand realized with a small gasp that that was likely why Berkut had been hiding his face. But Berkut simply brushed off his reaction, and instead took one of Fernand’s hands into his own. 

“Walk alongside me, Fernand.” His voice was filled with conviction, the regal essence of a prince seeping into his words. “Dream only of the future we shall bring about together; hand in hand, like so.” Berkut gave Fernand’s hand a light squeeze, but didn't break eye contact. 

“And promise me, with all your heart, to hold onto my hand.”

Fernand's eyes were wide, his heart hammering in his chest at Berkut's words. He was worried that his hands were shaking but Berkut held firm. So he gripped Berkut’s hands tightly with both of his own. 

“I swear upon my life, my heart and my soul. For you, Berkut, and only you.” He spoke confidently, and entirely in truth. 

All of the tension in the air dissipated as Berkut smiled, the blush on his face reaching the tips of his ears. Fernand couldn't help but smile in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe this was a lil sappy but that's alright  
> also this pairing has a severe lack of horny bullshit so expect that sometime soon (?)


End file.
